Cross Your Heart And Hope To Die
by wishesonfallenstars
Summary: (Promise Me You'll Never Leave My Side) Regina struggles to remember the days Before, but it breaks her heart to know that her son never will. This new world order of blood, running, and chaos is all he knows now. Could be all he ever knows. And it's that thought that keeps her moving. Part of my 'Horror Fest'


_Usual blanket 'gabi is writing' **warnings** apply - there is blood, guts, death, angst, magic, and all things horrific and wonderful (to me at least). Every single fic I post this month will be Horror. Nothing is sacred to me. No one is safe in my hands. You've been warned._

 _Part of my Horror Fest of fics, all can be found on my tumblr/twitter, not all of them are up here. Just the longer fuckers._

* * *

It's becoming harder and harder for Regina to remember what the world was like Before.

Before humans started dropping like flies, only to stand back up again, rotting from the inside out with a new cannibalistic diet. Before she could recognise different types of weapons on sight. Before staying in one place became too dangerous and she realised that if they wanted to survive they had to move. Before wandering around the country—more often than not by foot—with a toddler became her normal.

Regina struggles to remember the days Before, but it breaks her heart to know that her son never will. This new world order of blood, running, and chaos is all he knows now. Could be all he ever knows. And it's that thought that keeps her moving. Because she is determined to make sure that Henry grows up knowing more than just a near constant fear that you won't make it to the next sunrise.

It becomes less and less harrowing each time that she sees an Infected, each time she has to cut one down because survival is the name of the game these days. She never thought she would ever know the ins and outs of gun maintenance so well that she could probably take apart, clean, and reassemble Daniel's old handgun blindfolded. Though she prefers a knife, or the machete she'd found in the days After. Carrying around her own personal armory is second nature nowadays. Making sure that they survive, that _Henry_ survives this, is all that matters to her anymore, and if that means she has to learn how to kill people—not people (not always), _Infected_. The dead—without blinking to keep him safe, then she will.

Killian is starting to matter (just a little bit, just because she's stuck with him, and there's survival in numbers) to her too.

More so since they got separated from the rest of the rag-tag group of Survivors they were travelling in. It's just them now. Henry and Killian are the only people she has left, and as much as the man infuriates her, she is starting to need him too. Even on the days she _hates_ him, she's grateful that he's there because Henry is completely taken with him. And she's rather partial to no longer being the only one to keep the little boy entertained, and safe, and fed. And the man seems happy to answer Henry's endless questions, or throw him over his shoulders as they trek their way across the States.

He makes her boy smile. For that she'll take his smug grins, insufferable comments, and arrogance.

Maybe he makes her smile a little bit too.

He's got Henry dangling upside down from one shoulder, grinning up at Regina as she trails after them when the Infected fall on them.

Killian moves quicker than she's seen in all the weeks they've travelled together, putting Henry back on his feet and stepping in front of him to hurl a knife between its eyes before she can grab her own blade from its now permanent place on her hip. The Infected drops to the ground with barely a gurgle from its rotting lungs. He ducks down to grip Henry under his armpits, lifting him swiftly to move him so his back is pressed up against the verge they were following, dropping his bag, grabbing his gun and yet another knife.

"I need you to stay here for me, lad," he says. "Can you do that for me? Your mum and I need you to be brave and guard our things."

Henry bites his trembling lip, his stare swinging from between Killian and Regina before he sniffs and nods. "I can do it," he swears. "I'll be brave."

Killian forces a grin and nods at him, before moving to the side, and gun held out steady he waits until one is close enough to see the drool frothing where its teeth should be and shoots. Regina swallows down the fear that's never really left, shoves the nerves away as she focuses on never letting Henry see how terrified she still is, despite her growing numb to the way of the new world.

"It's gonna be okay, baby." She lets her bag slip from her back and tightens her grip on the machete, bracing her feet and making sure to angle herself so she can see both Henry and the Infected as they amble closer, and closer. "Close your eyes," she tells him before raising the knife and swinging it down to cut the head from the one closest as she turns to face them.

Blood splatters her face, tacky and luke-warm and stinking, and something she's all too used to now. She used to flinch every time she killed in the early days of the Scourge. Now she barely blinks as it falls to the ground, twitching even as its head rolls away, before she's stepping forward to swing at the next Infected that stumbles towards them, a snarl on her own face to match the ones on theirs. She isn't aware of much else as she hacks at the dead, ducking to avoid its bite and jamming her knife upwards, through the soft, decaying tissue beneath its jaw and into what is left of its brain until the moment that the world stops turning and her heart fails.

 _"MOMMY!"_

She's moved too far away from him. Has stepped out to cut off the head of an Infected before it could get near any of them, but in doing so she's too far away to get there in time when she hears Henry scream. Whirling around, machete still raised and dripping blood, she sees Henry paralyzed and backed into the verge, his face white as he stares at the Infected that's cornered him while her and Killian were distracted killing the others.

She won't reach him in time.

She already knows that the few feet between herself and her baby is the fucking Amazon when it comes to getting to him before the Infected does, but she's still yelling his name and jolting forward with her heart in her throat a second after she hears his scream.

Then Killian is behind the Infected, reaching around, grabbing its jaw and ripping it backwards away from Henry at the same time as he drives his bowie knife through the back of its skull, the blade popping through one eye socket before he lets go and it drops to the floor, twitches once, twice, three times before falling still. It all happens within the few seconds it takes Regina to reach them and skid to her knees to pull Henry into her arms, running her hands through his hair and checking him over. He clings to her, burying his face into her neck as he sobs. Pulling him in tighter, Regina rocks him back and forth, not bothering to fight her own stream of tears, presses a kiss to his forehead and shoots a glance around to make sure that the six Infected now laying in pieces on the bloody ground are the only ones they needed to worry about.

"I think we're safe," Killian says drawing her eyes to where he stands, blood and brain matter dripping onto the dirt beneath his feet. He's still on high alert—his eyes constantly roaming over the grove they're in—and his grip on the knife remains tight. "But we should try and find somewhere sheltered soon," he says. Once he seems satisfied that they're alone—for now—he drops to a crouch and runs his eyes over where Henry is cradled into her lap. "Did he…"

"No," she says. "No, you… you s-saved him." She's still shaking, the thought of how close she came to losing her little boy.

Nodding Killian focuses on where Henry is still crying against her neck, but his breaths are coming easier—no longer rattling his little body—and the tears aren't as heavy. "Hey, Henry?" He says before waiting until Henry shifts to peer across at him with one bloodshot, damp eye. "Your mother and I would _never_ let one of them hurt you, lad," he mummers.

Regina has proven that over and over since before people even began to Turn, and Killian has too since they joined the group of Survivors he was travelling with. More so since they were separated and it became just them, their bickering, and her four-year-old. She's known from the second Henry was handed to her by the social worker that she would die a thousand deaths to protect him. But hearing Killian say it out loud, swearing to her boy that he's safe with him as the whole world turns to chaos has something molten and long forgotten settle in her chest.

Blinking away the last of her own tears, and clearing her throat she gathers Henry into her arms and stands up, lifting him away from the remains scattered all around them and onto her hip as he loops an arm around her neck, wrapping his legs around her waist. "You are going to be too big for this soon, Little Prince," she grunts.

"Not yet though," he whispers before dropping his temple against her collarbone.

"No," she agrees. "Not yet." She presses a quick kiss to his visible cheek and thanks everything under the sun that she is still able to lift her son up. Glancing around she looks for the backpack she'd dropped to the floor when the Infected attacked them, not finding it until she looks up to see Killian carrying both packs.

"Here, lad, pass me your rucksack and then your mum will be able to hold you easier." He reaches forward and waits patiently as Henry shuffles his way out of his own—much smaller—bag and hands it to him. Outright ignoring Regina when she protests that he can't carry all three. He just shoulders the last bag and moves on, though she notices that he makes an effort to walk slow enough that she—hindered as she is with Henry's added weight—can keep up.

"Was I brave, mommy?" Henry's voice breaks the silence after they've made it far enough away from the ambush site that the only sign of it is the crows circling above, cawing in delight over the feast they left behind them.

"What?" She dots kisses to his forehead, runs fingers through his hair and smiles at him. "Of course you were!"

"But, but I screamed."

"So?" She doesn't quite know what to say to that. Hearing him scream will stay with her for the rest of her life, the main event in her nightmares from now on she suspects, but she doesn't know how to tell him that it was also the most beautiful noise in the world to her right now. Because it's the only reason he's still among the living. "Sweetheart…"

Killian must realise she is floundering for a way to put all of that into words because he moves to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and drops his gaze to lock with Henry's. "Henry, you screaming? That saved us."

"Really?"

"Of course it did!" Her heart flips at the way Killian is talking to her son. "Henry if you hadn't yelled out your mother and I might not have been able to get there in time," he tells him. "Besides," he adds, leaning in as much as he can with all three of their bags, making her smile at the way Henry's eyes widen as he lifts his head from her shoulder. "Screaming, or crying? None of that makes you any less brave. Being frightened of something doesn't change the fact that you're one of the bravest men I've ever met. And I bet your mother would agree with me," he says, winking at Regina when Henry's head whips around to stare at her in wonder.

"You are," she says, pride bursting within her at the way his little chest puffs up before he snuggles back into her arms. "You are the bravest person I know, my prince." Henry grins and wraps his arms around her tighter, burying his pink-stained cheeks into her neck—pleased as punch.

Shifting her attention away from Henry, for now as safe as he can be in her arms, she catches sight of Killian staring at them for moment, before he clears his throat and carries on through the trees, mumbling about finding shelter for the night to rest. Regina agrees and tries not to think too hard about the look in his eyes.

* * *

Regina sends up thanks to a god she doesn't believe in when they manage to find an old Ranger's cabin before more than an hour or so passes. They haven't stumbled across anymore Infected, but she doesn't find herself wanting to stay out in the open all the same after the attack, and Henry—though less shaken than earlier—is exhausted from all the excitement, and if she's honest with herself so is she. He's walking now with his hand clasped firmly in hers, each of them carrying their own backpacks, and he hasn't complained once about his legs being sleepy, but he's leaning further and further into her thigh with each step.

Killian looks about ready to keel over too and he's darting ahead, gun raised, to check that they are still clear from any of the dead finding them with barely a look between the two of them.

It's earlier than they normally like to stop, but it's been days since they were able to sleep on anything other than cold, hard dirt. Just the idea of being able to sit on something other than a tree stump, or the ground has Regina near groaning as Killian makes his way through the door and into the cabin.

"It's empty," he calls when he reappears, and Regina wastes no time in getting them inside. Happy to have four walls around her for as long as they can.

Killian shuts and bolts the door behind them as she helps Henry take off his backpack and remove his jacket before dealing with her own.

"There's not much, just a few rooms," he says. "But there's a small kitchen, a bathroom—though I doubt there's running water—and a few musty couches."

It's a fucking penthouse suite in all its depleted, dusty glory.

"Hey," she squats down in front of Henry and takes his hands in hers. "How about we see if we can get cleaned up and then maybe have a nap? That sound good?"

"Yeah," Henry says, following her happily once Killian nods towards the farthest door in the cabin and she pulls out a (somewhat) fresh shirt from her bag.

The water works, barely, but it still trickles out of the sink's tap well enough that she can soak a washcloth she finds stashed in the cupboard under it. She's tempted to see if the bath ones work just as well, but Henry yawns and rubs a grubby fist over his eyes, so she decides that this will do for now. It's already better than anything they've had in far too long, and there's only so many times she can make washing in an ice cold river, or pond appealing on the rare moments they camp somewhere close to one.

Henry lets her guide him out of his stained clothes and toss them onto the side of the tub before she scrubs him down with the cloth, rinsing it out as much as she can under the not-quite-clear water until he is somewhat clean. He grins up at her, this morning all but forgotten, as she wraps him up in one the towels left here when the Rangers abandoned it. He giggles as she wipes the corner of it over his face, flicking his nose with it and laughing herself as he goes cross-eyed.

"You are the _best_ thing in my life, do you know that?"

Henry tilts his head and scrunches up his face. "Uhhuh. You're the best thing in mine too, mommy," he tells her, letting out a happy shriek when she yanks him onto her lap to smother his face in kisses, her fingers tickling at his ribs.

She lets up after a moment or two, when his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are filled with tears from laughing, and hugs him one more time before helping him slip into the baggy, well worn, fire department t-shirt she stole from Daniel when they were teenagers. Henry liberated it from her, claiming it as his favourite night shirt a few months Before, and she gave it up willingly for the first time since Daniel's death. It dwarfs him, the sleeves going past his bony elbows and the hem nearly dragging on the floor, and she thinks that her first love would approve if he could see his shirt's new owner.

"I'm sleepy."

"Okay, let's go see how comfy those couches are, yeah?"

Henry nods, takes her hand, and leads her out of the bathroom to where Killian has used their blankets, as well as some he must have found lying around, to make up one of the smaller couches. He lets go to skip over to where Killian sits on one of the chairs opposite, scrambling up to kneel on his lap before he can do much to help, and throws his arms around his neck.

"Thank you for saving me, Killian," he whispers, stumbling like he always does over Killian's name, and hugging him as tight as he can.

Killian wraps an arm around him to squeeze back, and presses a kiss to his hair. "You don't ever have to thank me for that, Henry, but you're very welcome." He glances over to Regina for a moment before clearing his throat. "Now, I thought you were tired, lad?"

Henry pulls back to nod, smiling shyly at him before he's saying _G'night!_ and scrambling back over to where Regina sits on the edge of the makeshift bed, jumping up onto it and wiggling beneath the covers. She can't help but grin as she tucks him in, making sure his teddy bear, Ted, is securely under there with him.

"Goodnight, Little Prince," she says and she brushes the hair back from his brow. "I love you to the moon and back."

Henry's eyes slip shut as he mumbles back, "Love you to t'stars," and completes their bedtime ritual just before he passes out, the fact that it's still daytime making no difference to him.

She watches him for a while longer, unable to tear herself away from all that is good and pure in the world, before she kisses his cheek one last time and heads towards the kitchen. She feels more than hears when Killian follows after her, shutting the door between them and the main room half way.

"I need to go," he says when the silence becomes too much as she leans against one of the counters across from him, arms folded across her chest. "I… I don't want—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated grunt.

"Where?"

"What?"

"The bite," she says, finally looking up at him instead of where their weapons lean against the out of use refrigerator. "Where is it? You've been keeping your left side out of my sight all day. Show me," she demands.

He closes his eyes and sighs, lifting his left hand into view for the first time since the attack. His first three fingers, and the top half of his palm are torn from the Infected's teeth, still oozing blood and starting to puss from the infection. His undamaged fingers have already gone purple, and it's crawling its way up to his wrist.

"H-how long?"

He shrugs. "I don't know." He drops into one of the chairs at the small breakfast table, lays his arm palm up on top of it and stares at the black and blue spider-webbing its way out from the bite. "Long enough to get away from you and Henry, at the very least." She watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Once I'm far enough away, and you're both safe from me, I'll…" he trails off, but his eyes linger over his shotgun and Regina knows exactly what he's planning.

She's nodding even as she glares at him and says, "No."

"Regina—"

"No," she repeats, shaking her head. "I won't lose you, not like this."

"Love," he tries again. "I hardly want to go out like this either, but if it's a choice between a bullet and the Turn? I'll take the bullet gladly and see you and that boy out of harm's way."

"You can hardly know that we're safe if you've gone off to blow your damn brains out, can you?" Regina clenches her fists and wills herself not to yell and wake Henry up, but she refuses to let this happen. "Henry won't understand, he can't— _we_ can't do this without you."

Killian laughs, a dry, mirthless laugh, and scrubs his uninjured hand over his jaw. "You were doing just fine before I came along."

She shakes her head again and wraps her arms around her waist. "I don't want to go back to doing _just fine_. I don't want to be the only one Henry can go to when he wants a piggy back. I don't want to have to fight fucking _zombies_ on my own while worrying that I won't be quick enough to stop them from getting my child." She doesn't even care when she feels her eyes start to burn, though she refuses to let the tears fall. "He wouldn't be here without you… you got that bite when you pulled that thing away from him, and I won't let him lose you because of that."

Killian's own eyes look glassy as he half-smiles up at her. "I don't want to go. But I don't want you to have to put me down either, and I don't want Henry anywhere near me when it gets to that point."

"I'm not killing you," she says. "I'm not fucking killing you, and neither are you, so just shut the hell up."

"You know," he says. "You and that boy mean more to me than anything has in a long fucking time." He smiles a little wider, though it's just as bitter, even as she keeps shaking her head. "Have since before we got separated from the others. And I think you know that. So you know that I would do anything to protect you both—even from myself."

" _Shut up,_ " she whispers.

"I'm sorry, I wish I'd been able to get to him without this happening. But we don't know a way to stop the infection spreading, and short of cutting it out and crossing our damn fingers for a miracle, I don't know what else there is to do," he says it like his heart is breaking. Like he'll never forgive himself for breaking her's and Henry's but still plans to do it.

Taking a deep—if unsteady—breath, Regina shifts her hands to the counter behind her and drops her weight onto them for a moment before blinking back tears, clearing her throat she tells him _I can't lose you too,_ and moves across the room to cup his jaw and cover his mouth with hers.

He kisses her like she's precious and something he lusts for at the same time, licking at her lips, sucking on her tongue and setting her skin aflame even as he cradles her like she's the most delicate thing he's ever held. She doesn't love him, but Henry does and she thinks she might be able to, and to hell with him if he thinks he gets to martyr himself without their permission.

Pulling back Regina rubs her thumb over his beard and waits until he opens his eyes to gaze at her, dumbstruck. "That is an excellent idea," she whispers.

She shoves a wooden rod, one they use to help them cook over open campfires, between his teeth when he opens his mouth to ask what she's talking about, bending down to grip the handle of her machete at the same time, swinging it up and down, down, _down_ , through muscle, sinew and bone to bury itself into the wooden table-top with a dull _thunk_ that's almost drowned out by his muffled screams.

* * *

 _i'm debating turning this into a verse_


End file.
